Kitchenware & Candybars
by kenzier
Summary: Spike takes a day to make up his mind. SxF. Oneshot.


**A/N:** Alright kiddies, this is my first fanfic, so be brutally honest if it sucks so I will not pollute with any more crap in the future. If it's good, whoot! For years I'd sworn off writing, but my skills have sharpened considerably recently (attributed in no small way to Mac) and brigidforest finally convinced me to take a shot since I was so immersed in the fandom. So, here it is. Thanks to all the other great Bebop writers. You all have influenced me greatly. Happy reading.

**Disclaimer:** Cowboy Bebop belongs to Sunrise and Shinchiro Wanatabe. "Kitchenware & Candybars" belongs to Stone Temple Pilots.

* * *

**Kitchenware & Candybars**

by kenzier

_"Somebody told me I know where to go  
Somebody showed me I was last to know  
Sell me down the river _

What I wanted Is what I wanted  
What I wanted Is what she wanted"

"Kitchenware & Candybars" by Stone Temple Pilots

* * *

Faye had slept all day. In a way, Spike was glad; Faye was a much more agreeable person in the nighttime hours. However, this left him in something of a predicament for he now had to spend the whole day alone which was something he had not done in months. To be honest, it was bewildering to him--not only that he had not experienced such a day in so long, but also that he disliked the idea of doing so.

Damn Faye. She had drunken herself silly, beginning at dusk, watching the blue lagoon sky darken and merge with the nondescript buildings surrounding their motel. When he had rounded the corner, returning from a trip to the corner store, he spotted her sitting on the walkway, her legs pushed between the balusters, and knew they were in for a long night. She hadn't cried this time, but he did have to carry her to bed and stroke her hair until she fell asleep. He didn't truly mind the task, but it was never done in a time of hope or happiness, only in moments of disillusion and despair, which made it somewhat burdensome and sad.

Spike woke on the late side himself, and waited in vain for Faye to come to. When it finally occurred to him that this was not likely to happen anytime soon, he began to grow a tad anxious. He and Faye had been traveling together for months now and he'd gotten used having a companion to share his days with. Now Spike was alone again with only his thoughts to keep him company. This was something he feared.

He tried to busy himself with preparations for their departure tomorrow, but found there was little to pack or ready. He skimmed through a stack of sleazy pulp magazines they'd collected from one rack or another along the way, but found none of them to be interesting enough to capture his wandering mind. He let his neck slacken from any tension and cast his eyes toward the ceiling. He wondered a bit about the town they were in and decided it was quite similar to the one they stayed in a few days before. And the one before that. And the one before that. He thought that all the towns they'd been to seemed to feel the same and that no one held more promise for them than the last. He wondered about the next town they'd visit. He wondered if anything would await them there.

Spike sat up quickly, shaking away the thoughts that had been floating around him moments before. He hated that existential bullshit. It never got him anywhere. His stomach grumbled suddenly, offering him a welcomed distraction. He pushed himself out of bed, pulled on his clothes from the night before, and kissed Faye lightly on her bare shoulder before creeping out the door.

* * *

The late afternoon sun burned fiery red outside the cool, quaint diner where Spike sat waiting for his food. He admired the beauty of the dusky hues while sipping the soda he'd ordered which secretly contained some whiskey from his flask. His mood had brightened a shade after leaving the dark vestibule of Faye's and his motel room. Their rooms were always dark, even during the daytime. Sometimes, when the light outside glowed ethereally around the edges of their curtain and under the crack of the door, Spike found his mood became sour instantly. It was like they were pretending. 

He sighed because he was thinking again. Spike had miraculously discovered that if he did not think about his life, he seemed to like it better. So, for months, he had let the road and towns and Faye fill up his whole existence. He wore himself out every day so that when he fell into bed at night, he drifted to sleep soundly and happily. So he was happy, he thought.

Then, his food arrived and he didn't think any more.

* * *

After Spike finished his meal, he left the diner and crossed to an open paper stand. He didn't really need anything, but he was drawn suddenly to its novelty. His eyes skimmed the covers of two dozen periodicals, all holding some degree of newly arisen interest to him. However, he felt a bit overwhelmed by the choice, and bought nothing at all. Instead, he walked on down the straight and seemingly endless street. 

He passed a cigarette shop, momentarily torn between entering or continuing on. He had little time before he was sure Faye would awaken and he didn't quite feel like returning just yet. He'd dressed and left the comfort of their room, and so felt it necessary to accomplish something more than simply eating. However, he couldn't quite put his finger on the urge which compelled him--the urge which moved him block after block, further and further from their motel.

The sky had begun to dim and he was all but certain Faye was up now, but, guiltily, he couldn't find it in him to head home. He entered a street market which he instantly realized was a mistake. All the novelty items began to perk his interests. After traveling so long, never truly taking the time to enjoy one place or another, he really wanted to look at all the interesting items laid out before him. Look but don't touch, he decided.

He drifted through a maze of pronged posts which held sunglasses and personalized key chains with every name he'd heard from here to Pluto; through a booth with clothes collected from Venus, Jupiter, and even Earth; past a little shop with umbrellas and leather jackets; even a little stand with shiny model cars. He reached out to pick up a little red convertible, but drew back quickly, remembering his clause, and turned to leave, unfulfilled.

* * *

Spike was tired of himself, he decided as he sat on the steps of a walk-up. He wished he were young again or has something new to build on. It seemed futile to try to latch on to anything after ignoring most of the world for 30 years. He hated the idea of spending the next 50 years floating about, never really touching anything or giving a good goddamn about anything. He liked to think he gave a damn about Faye, but she was caught in the same quandary as he was. They amounted more to a pool of hopelessness and hurt than a couple. He suddenly felt ashamed for having left her alone, wondering if she was being subjected to her own reflective thoughts in his absence. Thinking about yourself was a damaging practice, he thought wisely. 

He contemplated getting back into bounty hunting. That has excited and amused him at least. He wondered if he'd every own a house or be a father. Would he ever land on solid ground once and for all? He grimaced at his pathetic sentiments, flicking away his cigarette, loathing himself for his indecision. His emotions were starting to get to him in a bad way. Before, they had always driven him to action. Now, they simply slowed him down.

This thoughts were diverted at the appearance of a black stray cat. _Oh great_, he mused, _bad luck to boot_. To his irritation, the cat climbed the steps toward him, sniffing the air cautiously, obviously in search of food.

"Sorry, cat. I've got nothin' for ya," he surmised, shaking his head.

The cat paid his statement no mind, instead hopping up towards him more quickly now that Spike had acknowledged it. Once it reached his feet, the cat watched Spike's every move attentively with an air of expectancy.

"Scram," he spat, gesturing to emphasize. The cat was unmoved by his animosity, and responded by raising on its hind legs, scratching his pant leg with its front paws, and mewling. Spike batted the beast away with a little more force than he intended. _God_, he grimaced pathetically to himself,_ I'm taking my frustrations out on a cat_.

He reached out to the wayside animal, which shied away momentarily, but slowly inched closer. Its wet nose touched Spike's fingertips and he felt a tad redeemed. Soon, he was scratching behind the cat's ears and the meek animal was lifting into his touch. Spike smiled in spite of himself and lifted the animal into his lap. The cat may have come for food, but instead it got love.

* * *

Midnight was approaching by the time Spike arrived at the motel. He crept into the room quietly, feeling a surge of unwarranted guilt at his lack of consideration. Maybe it was warranted, he considered. He'd been hiding the stray under his jacket whilst walking past the office and now released the squirming feline onto the table in the corner. 

The only light in the room came from the adjoining bathroom where Spike could hear movement. He tossed his key on the table next to the cat which was perched on the edge, considering a jump to the floor. The sound brought a robe-clad Faye around the corner to inspect. Spike was hurt that she seemed somewhat surprised, as if she did not expect him to return.

"Hi," he offered weakly, standing awkwardly.

"Hi," she said, letting her eyes fall toward the toothbrush she was holding after a moment of silence. She turned back to the bathroom with a atmosphere of self-adversity dominating her actions.

Spike heard her rinse the toothbrush and tap it on the edge of the sink before she returned, towel in hand. She sat on the edge of the bed, one leg bent beside her. She turned her headdown and away from him, drying her hair.

"Where were you?" she questioned him with a shade of defiance and a shade of hurt detectable in her voice.

"Around," he answered vaguely, moving to join her.

She looked up and surveyed the room as he looked down at his hands which were resting on his thighs.

"Where'd you get the cat?"

"I found it. It just walked up to me," he said chuckling a little wryly.

"I thought you hated cats," she said contrarily.

He was a bit stung by her sharpness.

"I do, normally," he said earnestly. "But I felt sorry for it, I guess." He smiled awkwardly and slumped his shoulders a bit.

She hooked her arm in his and he took her hand, feeling her coolness melt. She leaned her face to his bicep. "Do you plan to keep it?" Her voice cracked.

"Yes," he said firmly.

"How?" she asked, her voice strained. "We keep moving from place to place."

"Maybe we'll stop moving...from place to place."

Her looked down at her. She looked up at him, drawing back into an upright position. Her expression was confused and she seemed to be forming an argument of protest for a moment before she simply replied: "Okay."

"Okay?" he probed.

She nodded, a bit excitedly. "Okay."

He kissed her shortly and sweetly, then bent down, sweeping up the scrawny feline. He placed it between them, giving them both room to stroke the formerly neglected cat.

"What should we name it?" she asked passively, still stroking the grateful creature.

"I dunno," he said thoughtfully. "Let's decide tomorrow."

A restful sleep was overtaking him. He had exhausted himself without even realizing it.

* * *

Read and review, please. 


End file.
